


Prayer In A Belljar

by Angel_of_Brahma



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Both Rita and Benzaiten are just mentioned, But just a little, Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_Brahma/pseuds/Angel_of_Brahma
Summary: A look on a certain master thief (from the perspective of his partner)





	Prayer In A Belljar

Rudolf Nureyev was the name of a ballet dancer born on Earth aeons ago.

Juno knows this. The people on Earth had a way of keeping their brightest stars alive long after death. They had a way of broadcasting all their successes to the galaxy so loudly that it would only take a few clicks (or in Juno’s case, several frantic and furious calls to Rita) to find them.

Juno briefly wonders if that Nureyev and his Nureyev are related because, God _,_ Peter is nothing if not graceful.

Juno has been with Nureyev long enough to have noticed all the little things.

The birthmark right on the jugular, delicate yet distinct. The surprisingly long eyelashes (Rita had expressed her jealousy over them more than once). The long nails, always filed into sharp points, always painted. (Juno asks why. Nureyev describes them as emergency weapons. Juno points out his teeth and Peter just laughs, exposing sharp canines behind ruby red lips.)

Regardless of what he’s doing, however, Nureyev moves like a dancer. Whether he’s handing Juno his morning coffee or stealing the keys to his safe straight from his pocket, Peter makes it look like choreography.

It’s something about the swish of the wrist, Juno tells himself, and the sway of the arms. It’s something about how every spontaneous move seems calculated. Every step. Every breath.

It’s not helped by the fact Nureyev looks like a work of art. All slim, long limbs. All keen, sharp eyes. An angelic grin and foxes’ teeth. Always dressed to the nines.

Juno imagines Peter painted by Michelangelo or Da Vinci but is sure the _art_ would pale in comparison.

He knows every word Nureyev says to be melodic but none more than _‘_ Juno’ _._ None more than ‘I love you’ _._

And even amongst all this perfection, Juno knows Peter is a fucking disaster. The one time Juno left Peter to make instant ramen he burned himself and nearly burned the apartment down. The man doesn’t know how a washing machine works. Hell, the man can barely fold his own clothes.

And yet, all this makes Juno more and more in love.

And yet, all this causes Juno to whisper on a lazy autumn afternoon,

“He would have loved you, you know?”

Peter glances up from his novel, his eyes questioning, his lips parted, forming the question.

“Benzaiten.” Juno breathes, like it’s a confession. Like it’s nothing.

Juno watches as Peter’s expression softens, then crumples, tears streaming delicately down his face. Happily. He thinks that even this is a work of art.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Alex here! You might know me from my coffee shop AU with A_Small_Town_Girl  
> I hope you all enjoyed this, as usual any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated greatly! (I live for validation and improving my writing lmao)


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